


the last (of the real ones)

by phantomfantaaa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Goes to Therapy, Akaashi Keiji-centric, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Growing Up, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Akaashi Keiji, Post-Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers, Second Chances, Songfic - Freeform, no beta no gods only chaos, oh god the angst, timeline study - freeform, timeskip - freeform, we all want good things for Akaashi and honestly who wouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomfantaaa/pseuds/phantomfantaaa
Summary: 1. Bokuto’s weaknesses feel like immovable objects but Akaashi is an unstoppable force. He wants, and wants, and wants, and—2. An object in motion stays in motion unless a force acts on it. What happens when two objects drift?3. He waits—not very long, far too long, twenty minutes, three years; he inches forward—he is an object in motion that stays in motion until it is met by another force. He reaches the front, mere feet from Bokuto, and stops.or, the art of falling in, out, and back in love.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Miya Osamu, Akaashi Keiji & Udai Tenma, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 29
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I listen to the last of the real ones by fall out boy + I think about bokuaka = this fic

✧ ✧ ✧

_I was just an only child of the universe and then I found you._

Akaashi Keiji is fourteen years old the first time he hears about Bokuto Koutarou. He sits in his living room in front of the television, focused on the game in front of him: the Spring National volleyball high school championships. Out of fifty-two schools representing over forty-five prefectures, only the strongest two remain.

_—and Nakamura goes down! Can he recover? Looks like he’s getting back on his feet, but he’s bleeding! Fukurodani’s ace is forced to leave the court._

Akaashi holds his breath with the on-screen crowd.

_Bokuto Koutarou, backup outside hitter, takes his place. Only a first-year and already one of the top ten aces in Japan! And he’s only a second-stringer—just shows the sheer power of Fukurodani Academy this year._

“Keiji! Come set the table for dinner.”

“Just one minute, _okaasan,”_ Akaashi calls out, eyes fixed on the screen.

He’s captivated by the spiker’s energy, nearly jumping out of his seat when he smashes an almost-parallel cross-shot, and his feet leave the ground as the pixelated boy scores the game-winning point.

_Hey hey hey!_

Even though Google Maps says that it will take a five-minute walk to the station and a thirty-minute train route plus a fifteen-minute bus ride to get to campus, Akaashi decides that he wants to attend Fukurodani Academy next year.

✧ ✧ ✧

_You are the sun and I am just the planets spinning around you._

With a miracle and some sheer force of luck, Akaashi gets a recommendation for Fukurodani and becomes the backup setter for a championship team. He’s perfectly fine with being the backup since Sato-san is a third-year and has earned his role in the starting lineup, and Akaashi gets nervous in the spotlight anyway. He shows up to practice on time, he keeps his head down and works hard during drills and scrimmages, and he rapidly learns from the best of the best and hones his skills. His fingers get stronger, quicker, sharper, his tosses more precise, his game intuition and strategies expanded.

He loves the sport and feels most alive and free with a ball at his fingertips, plays his heart out during matches, and most days, it’s fine. He gets to play the sport he loves for his top-choice school.

But some days, Akaashi feels a gnawing deep inside him, a constant reminder of not enough. An emptiness that claws at his skin when he declines an invitation for dinner with the team because the restaurant is in the opposite direction of his house, which adds another fifteen-minute walk, and he has a curfew. An ache that burns in his throat when he gets stuck on a homework problem late at night and realizes he doesn’t have any of his classmates’ phone numbers. The stinging behind his eyes when he accidentally finds out that the other first-years on the team have a separate group chat without him.

After the Summer InterHigh, the third-years retire to focus on university applications, and Akaashi gets promoted to the starting lineup and he finally gets to feel the electricity crackling in the air right after the first whistle of the match. His teammates cheer for him, and it only takes two practice games to lose count of the high-fives and slaps on his back. People say hi to him across the campus quad, and once in a while, he sits with someone during lunch. His life feels a little warmer, a little less empty.

One day after practice, Bokuto asks Akaashi to set for him.

“Watch out—next thing you know, you’ll be stuck there for at least two hours,” one of the upperclassmen warns Akaashi.

“Ahh Komi, why’d you say that! You’re gonna scare him off.” Bokuto looks visibly deflated.

Akaashi wants to say no—he’s exhausted and would rather go home to take a nap and he has an exam at the end of the week that he needs to study for—but before he can answer, Bokuto has already turned to walk away, head down and shoulders hunched.

Watching the downward curve of Bokuto’s spine and the slope of his hunched shoulders triggers an ache in his chest that feels too familiar. Akaashi checks his watch—6:30 p.m. His parents get upset if he stays out past 8:30. If he wants to make it home on time, he only has an hour to practice with Bokuto—but his father is out of town and his mother is working a night shift at the hospital.

Just this once, Akaashi decides to break a rule.

“Alright, Bokuto-san. I can set for you.”

Bokuto whips around, face shining and full of hope. “Really?! You mean it?!”

“Sure,” Akaashi nods. “Just for today, though.”

Komi was right—they end up practicing late into the night, hours past Akaashi’s curfew. By the time they finally finish cleaning up, Akaashi has learned, in order: what Bokuto ate for lunch today, Bokuto’s first volleyball memories, his opinions on favorite family members, most of his childhood, his top ten favorite snacks, and the plot of his favorite book.

“Those themes remind me of one of my favorite books— _The Silent Cry,”_ Akaashi remarks after Bokuto finishes his latest explanation.

“Akashi, I love that book!”

“It’s Akaashi,” he gently corrects Bokuto, “and I’m surprised to hear you like _The Silent Cry.”_

“Ah yeah, most people are surprised to hear that I like reading,” Bokuto says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “They think I’m too dumb to understand books and stuff.”

Akaashi ducks his head. “My apologies, Bokuto-san. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t intelligent.”

Bokuto shakes his head. “Don't worry about it! They’re right, for the most part,” he laughs, “I’m barely passing most of my classes. But for some reason, I’ve always liked reading. I get to learn big words and stuff!”

Bokuto walks Akaashi all the way to the transit stop and even waits with him until the bus arrives.

“Thanks for setting for me today. I know I can be a lot.” Bokuto scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk.

“What do you mean, Bokuto-san?”

“No one ever wants to stay after to do extra practice with me,” Bokuto says, shrugging. “They don’t say it to my face, but everyone thinks I’m too loud all the time, especially when it’s about volleyball.”

“You’re just very passionate. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Akaashi smiles. “I had a lot of fun setting for you.”

“Me too! Your tosses are the best!” Bokuto beams a smile so radiant that it makes Akaashi feel hot all over. “Do you want to do it again tomorrow?”

Akaashi still has a curfew, and his parents will be home tomorrow and expecting him back by 8:30.

“Sure,” Akaashi says. He’ll figure out an excuse tomorrow.

“You’re a lot of fun to hang out with, Akaashi. I feel like you actually listen to me when I talk,” Bokuto says earnestly, “Hey, let’s hang out again tomorrow after practice! Do you want to come to my house? I can show you some of my other favorite books, and also my favorite manga!”

Akaashi feels good right now, so he nods. “I would like that, Bokuto-san.”

After that day, the extra one-on-one practices and after-school hangouts become a common occurrence. Bokuto invites Akaashi to eat lunch with him and the other third-years, and Akaashi finds that he shares a sense of humor with Washio and plays the same video games as Konoha. One night, they’re at Bokuto’s house and they lose track of the time, and it’s too late for Akaashi to take the train home, so he stays the night. It becomes a regular thing.

Akaashi starts buying red bean buns at the _konbini_ by the train station just because he knows they’re Bokuto’s favorite, and he loves the way Bokuto’s eyes light up every time even though Akaashi’s been giving him buns nearly every morning for the last two months.

He finds himself by Bokuto’s side more often than not, and it makes him feel full. He looks forward to the moments when Bokuto bounds up to him in the morning like an overgrown puppy with his bookbag strapped over his forehead, or when Bokuto texts him a meme late at night when he should be doing homework. Sometimes, they talk on the phone at night, Bokuto rambling about whatever topic is currently of interest and Akaashi quietly studying and occasionally chiming in with a comment, and sometimes, they forget to hang up, and Akaashi wakes up to Bokuto’s snoring and an eight-hour phone call that never ended. His parents scold him for using up so many minutes, but he still picks up whenever Bokuto calls.

Akaashi simply gets pulled into Bokuto’s massive orbit, and he spends his days circling around the brightest star in his life.

✧ ✧ ✧

_I will shield you from the waves if they find you; I will protect you._

Akaashi Keiji is sixteen going on seventeen, is in his second year of high school, has two problem sets to complete by next Tuesday, and is currently four train stops away from his house in the suburbs. He thinks about his bed and contemplates a quick power nap when he gets home.

Bokuto bumps into him as the train lurches around a bend. After a year of friendship, Akaashi knows that Bokuto Koutarou has thirty-seven weaknesses, and for every weakness, Akaashi has a solution.

Today is Bokuto weakness #25: he is forgetful about things he does not find interesting and, as a result, is at risk of failing his math final. Bokuto solution #25: find a way to make the thing fun, hence, Akaashi has offered to tutor Bokuto in exchange for a Kuroko no Basket marathon.

After hours of studying, Bokuto still doesn’t understand how to solve an integral, and he gets more and more discouraged.

“I just don’t get it, Aghasheee! I know you’re trying really hard, and you’re a really good teacher! I’m just stupid or something.”

_Bokuto weakness #12: he gets insecure sometimes. Bokuto solution #12: remind him that he is loved._

“Bokuto-san, this is calculus—it’s supposed to be hard. And you’re not stupid. Would a stupid person be able to learn five different combo attacks?” Akaashi gently reminds him.

Bokuto perks up for a moment then quickly deflates again. “But you’re so good at this, Agashee. You’re a year below me, and you already understand integrals and derivatives and stuff.” Bokuto pulls at his hair. “I can’t do anything right—I don’t know why they made me captain.”

_Bokuto solution #12: remind him that he is loved._

“Bokuto-san, everyone on the team values your leadership as captain.” Akaashi hesitates. “And It’s an honor to be your vice-captain.”

Bokuto continues to run his fingers through his hair, messing up the gel and deforming the tufts. It hurts to see him like this.

_Bokuto solution #12: remind him that he is loved._

“We love and respect you—all the parts of you.”

_Bokuto solution #12: remind him that he is loved._

“I…”

Bokuto’s eyes are still dull, arms now wrapped across his chest. Akaashi aches.

Bokuto’s weaknesses feel like immovable objects but Akaashi is an unstoppable force. He wants to help, to fix this, to get Bokuto to pull his head out of his ass and see himself as the bright star he is. He wants, and wants, and wants, and—

He takes both hands and cradles Bokuto’s face, and he kisses him.

✧ ✧ ✧

_I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision, but only for you._

Not much changes after they officially start dating.

They still hang out together after school every day, Akaashi still sends perfect tosses to Bokuto, and he still refuses to drop the _-san_. They’re unstoppable partners on the court and tender lovers off, two halves of a whole that understand each other as one cohesive unit. When Bokuto encounters a weakness mid-game, Akaashi is the only one who understands him well enough to instantaneously get him back to top form. When Akaashi feels insecure and withdraws from the world, only Bokuto can gently encourage him to open up his heart.

One thing does change: Bokuto gets _significantly_ more affectionate when he’s in love.

“Aghasheee!” Bokuto cries as he throws his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders first thing in the morning. Akaashi staggers sideways with the weight, laughing, and sneaks a kiss on the soft skin under Bokuto’s ear.

Sometimes, Bokuto catches Akaashi staring at him during practice which makes Bokuto giddy with glee, and Akaashi ducks his head and blushes.

“Bokuto-san, please focus. We’re at practice right now,” Akaashi scolds Bokuto after he presses a kiss to his cheek, the back of his neck burning. Konoha snickers a few feet away, and someone hollers across the court.

The second and third-years tease them, pretending to gag at the public displays of affection, but deep down, they’re happy for the couple (they would much rather take this over the oblivious sexual tension).

On their one-year anniversary, Bokuto gets Akaashi a first-edition copy of _The Silent Cry_ and Akaashi writes Bokuto a poem about the stars. They blush as they exchange gifts behind the gym, both nervous that their presents will miss the mark, but Akaashi nearly cries when Bokuto pulls the book out of his bag, and after Bokuto reads Akaashi’s poem, he lifts Akaashi fully off the ground and spins him around, laughing brightly.

When Bokuto graduates, they take a train to Chiba and spend a day at DisneySea to celebrate. Akaashi buys Bokuto a Mickey Mouse ears hat with a little graduation cap and _Class of 2013_ embroidered in gold. They shriek and howl with laughter when they get soaked on the rides, they share churros and ice cream, and they even kiss under the fireworks. On the train ride home that night, Bokuto falls asleep on Akaashi’s shoulder and he whispers promises and vows against his temple.

Spring passes, and Akaashi starts his final year at Fukurodani as captain. Bokuto moves to Higashiosaka after he gets recruited by a V.Leage Division 1 team—the MSBY Black Jackals.

Akaashi now has to take a three-hour bullet train just to get from Tokyo to Osaka, but it’s worth it to spend even just one night with his partner. He can usually visit on weekends when he doesn’t have practice—at least once a month—and Bokuto makes the trip whenever he has time off.

Despite the distance, they fit into each other’s lives. Bokuto has a drawer of clothes in Akaashi’s room, and Akaashi has a toothbrush and various skincare creams in Bokuto’s bathroom. They move around each other in the kitchen like a choreographed dance, Bokuto gathering ingredients for his morning protein smoothie and Akaashi pouring himself a pot of coffee. They drift to sleep in a tangle of limbs, filling in each other’s curves and crevices, two shards from the same meteor, lucky enough to land in the same place.

The rest of the time, when they can’t see each other in person, they video call for at least an hour every day despite their busy schedules. They cook dinner together over FaceTime, they quietly keep each other company as Akaashi studies and Bokuto reviews tapes, they fall asleep with phones on pillows.

It’s not ideal, but they make it work.

Akaashi feels Bokuto’s missing presence most when it comes to volleyball. He tries to model Bokuto’s leadership as captain, but it’s not the same without his partner by his side. 

He tries his best, he really does, but the cool and confident facade threatens to crack under the expectations of leading a top-two-in-the-nation volleyball team. They suffer a crushing defeat in the second round of the Summer InterHigh, and Akaashi feels as if he has failed.

So he trains harder, spends long nights at the gym practicing tosses, comes up with new tactics and combo attacks. He makes strategic split-second decisions and wins the first practice match after the Summer Interhigh with a setter dump. The team dominates the Fukurodani Academy Group training camp and re-gains their momentum. They win a regional tournament, and _Volleyball Monthly_ declares them a strong contender for the Spring Nationals.

All things considered, Akaashi should be proud—the team is in a good spot; they’re playing extraordinarily well and making good progress on their weaknesses. But with each additional win, Akaashi feels an ever-increasing pressure crushing against him from all directions, his anxiety spiraling every night as he loses sleep.

_They’re all counting on you. Train harder and fight to be the strongest. Always connect with the ball. Pour all your soul into each ball. Don’t let down the team. Make sure you meet their expectations. Carry Bokuto’s legacy. Don’t fuck it all up._

He confides in Bokuto during their calls, spills his fears and insecurities, and Bokuto listens and comforts.

“You’re brilliant, Keiji. You’re the smartest person I know,” Bokuto says through the phone every time Akaashi spirals.

 _But I’ll never be you,_ Akaashi thinks.

The night before the representative playoffs, Akaashi wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He gasps for air and struggles to breathe—he feels as if his chest is collapsing. His vision tunnels and his heart pounds against his ribs. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take deep breaths.

_One…_

_Two…_

_Three…_

After ten counts, his breathing stabilizes enough to fully fill his lungs with air, and he watches his chest expand. He glances at the time—nearly two in the morning—and wraps his arms around himself.

He reaches out for his phone to call Bokuto but stops himself before he presses the green button.

Bokuto is currently asleep in a hotel three hundred kilometers away in Shizuoka for a match in twelve hours. He had already spent most of yesterday evening reassuring Akaashi about his anxieties, so it’s not like Akaashi is going through anything new. It would be rude to call this late at night and interrupt his sleep before an important professional match.

Akaashi sets his phone back down and tries to close his eyes.

Fukurodani ends up qualifying for the Spring Nationals, and when the time comes, they make it to day three but get knocked out by Itachiyama Institute. Akaashi doesn’t cry, but a few others do, and he shares a moment on the court in a joined embrace with the other third-years.

His phone rings just as he ducks into the restroom, and he locks himself in a stall and digs out his headphones.

“Hey Keiji, I just saw the game,” Bokuto says through the earbuds, “You gave it your all. Everyone did.”

Akaashi stays quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally says.

“You looked so good out there, Ji. You played your best,” Bokuto tries to cheer him up.

Akaashi breaks. He finally cries, hysterically chokes on his words, tries to muffle his sobs with the back of his hand. Bokuto murmurs words of support and care and he lets Akaashi cry.

Akaashi knows he should be proud of the team. All in all, it was a respectable showing, but he can’t shake the feeling that he ultimately failed to live up to expectations.

One of the second-years comes into the restroom to find Akaashi and alert him that the bus is leaving soon. Akaashi wipes his cheeks and walks back to join the team, headphones still in his ears. Too exhausted to cry anymore, he sits in silence on the ride home and falls asleep to Bokuto’s low and quiet voice—a softness that Akaashi knows is reserved for only him.

✧ ✧ ✧

_I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you but not as much as I do._

After graduation, he spends a few weeks with Bokuto in Osaka during the V.League off-season. They spend most of the first week horizontal—evenings with sweat-slicked skin and cries of passion, nights with shared warmth and tangled legs, and late mornings with lazy kisses and slow rolls. Akaashi cries out Bokuto’s name when he bites his shoulder, and he basks in the afterglow, Bokuto pressing light kisses down his neck and shoulder.

When they manage to peel themselves out of bed in the late afternoons, their daily flow is blissfully domestic. Bokuto cooking eggs for breakfast while Akaashi checks his email. Ordering takeout and eating at the kitchen counter. Taking turns pushing a cart at the grocery store. Attempting to bake cookies but giving up and returning to the store to buy pre-made dough.

Bokuto eventually drags Akaashi out to meet his teammates for a casual lunch at a restaurant near the practice arena, and Akaashi nervously switches outfits three times before they finally leave the apartment. They meet up with two players who introduce themselves as Inunaki and Adriah, and they eagerly ask Akaashi about his volleyball career over drinks.

Overall, it’s a perfect staycation, but on Akaashi’s last day in Osaka, he cries because it can’t last forever.

He wants to be able to wake up next to Bokuto every morning instead of once a month. He doesn’t want the rushed weekend visits anymore; he wants to cook dinner for two, go on proper dates, binge-watch shitty Netflix shows together. He’s tired of longing, of counting down days just to repeat the cycle over and over again. He wants to be selfish, wants to ask Bokuto to come home with him.

But Bokuto’s home, his career, _everything_ is in Osaka now, two hundred and fifty miles away from Akaashi’s university in Tokyo. He wants to be selfish and keep Bokuto to himself, but he can’t get in the way of Bokuto’s dreams.

_Is love supposed to hurt this much?_

A week later, Akaashi starts his first year in the Literature department at the University of Tokyo. The program is rigorous and demands more from him than high school ever did—he spends late nights in the library and discovers the wonders of brewing coffee with Red Bull instead of water.

Bokuto’s practices intensify as the Jackals train for the pre-season. Once Akaashi’s halfway through the semester and the V.League season is in full swing, it’s near-impossible to align Bokuto’s travel schedule with Akaashi’s endless academic deadlines.

They only manage to visit each other once every few months, but the rare times they do spend together during breaks and holidays feel magical.

They decide to spend the New Year holiday together at Bokuto’s apartment. They bring pillows and a heated blanket onto the balcony and huddle in each other’s warmth as they drink beer and listen to the bells ring. They kiss at midnight and fall asleep on the couch watching a shitty rom-com. The next morning, they buy mochi from a street vendor for breakfast on their way to the shrine where they grab the thick rope and ring the bell together, bowed heads whispering prayers for their futures. When they return to the apartment, they fall asleep under the _kotatsu_ wrapped in each other’s arms.

But the week reaches its end and with it, the fantasy fades. Akaashi goes back to Tokyo and Bokuto resumes his rigorous training schedule.

They still talk regularly, but their fast-paced lifestyles throw more hurdles than they expected. Occasionally, Bokuto’s practice runs so late that he collapses in bed the second he gets home before he can send Akaashi a goodnight text. Sometimes, Akaashi gets caught up in writing an essay and forgets to check in after one of Bokuto’s games, but when he does remember to call, he gets Bokuto’s voicemail more often than not. He spends those nights in bed, tapping through various Jackals team members’ Instagram stories of celebration drinks.

Their communication, once daily, becomes semi-regular at best. The texts start to feel like tasks and the calls feel like obligations. It fills Akaashi with guilt, but he occasionally thinks he would rather spend the time catching up on his reading or working on his research.

It drags on for over a year.

Once in awhile, Akaashi encounters a fleeting thought that he can’t do this anymore, but most days, he just feels detached, aimlessly floating. 

After a meeting with his advisor and some harsh feedback on the fifth draft of his literature review, Akaashi cries in his room. He calls one of his friends from his department and she comes over with ice cream and cookies. He doesn’t even think of calling Bokuto, but even if he did, Bokuto probably would have been busy anyway.

_An object in motion stays in motion unless a force acts on it. What happens when two objects drift?_

The inevitable happens when he’s multitasking between cooking dinner and calling Bokuto.

“—and then Atsumu tripped in front of the whole crowd! He got mad at us for laughing, but we made it up to him with drinks after. You shoulda been there Keiji!”

Akaashi hums noncommittally as he stirs and taste-tests the curry. “I’m sure it was a great time. I didn’t realize you were friends with him, Bokuto-san.”

“Yeah, we hang out all the time! He’s my best friend on the team. Well, I like all my teammates, but Atsumu and I are really tight because we’re the closest in age and we were in the same high school circuit.”

It hits him that he had no idea when Atsumu even joined the Jackals, let alone became Bokuto’s best friend. He wonders how many other things he doesn’t know about Bokuto. Does he even know Bokuto’s milk tea order anymore or his current favorite movie?

The curry tastes bitter on his tongue.

Akaashi stops stirring and sets the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot.

“Bokuto-san, I think we need to talk.”

✧ ✧ ✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have (almost) the entire thing written--I just have to do edits and motivate myself to finish this one scene, so I'll try to post the entire fic throughout next week!! Come say hi to me on [twitter :)](https://twitter.com/sakuatsusadboi)


	2. Chapter 2

✧ ✧ ✧

_Just tell me, tell me, tell me I, I am the only one even if it’s not true._

Akaashi makes a list of reasons why his first breakup is not the end of the world:

  1. _He's still young, only twenty years old. He is still in the "early life" section of the Wikipedia article for "Akaashi Keiji"._
  2. _They were already drifting apart, so he was just ripping off the bandaid instead of delaying the inevitable._
  3. _He needs to focus on his thesis and prepare for job applications._
  4. _He has more time to write that collection of poems he always dreamed about._
  5. _He will save money on bullet train tickets._
  6. _He can reclaim an entire dresser drawer._



Akaashi stares at the pathetic list scrawled on the back of a takeout menu and throws it in the trash. When he can’t fall asleep at night, he makes a new list.

  1. _Maybe if I tried harder._
  2. _Maybe if I was more patient._
  3. _Maybe if I waited it out._
  4. _Maybe if I was a happier person._
  5. _Maybe if I looked for jobs in Osaka._
  6. _Maybe if I did something different._
  7. _Maybe if I brought it up sooner._
  8. _Maybe if I didn’t bring it up at all._
  9. _Maybe if I hadn’t thrown three years down the fucking drain._
  10. _Maybe if I just tried to make it work._
  11. _Maybe if I just tried to make it work._
  12. _Maybe if I just tried to make it work._
  13. _Maybe if I…_



This list is twice as long and grows every day.

Every morning, he wakes up with a deep ache in his bones. He feels empty, hollow, like the world has collapsed under his feet and he’s falling down an endless pit. He barely functions and forgets how to exist—Akaashi has not known a life without Bokuto since he was fourteen.

He cries a lot the first few months, and over the stupidest things. A dishtowel that Bokuto gifted him when he moved into his first apartment. A stray jar of hair pomade found in the medicine cabinet. Children in the park learning volleyball.

But healing is not linear, and one morning, Akaashi wakes up and notices that there is no pain in his chest. He doesn’t cry all week. Some days are harder than others, but little by little, he feels lighter and lighter until he realizes one day, sometime in the middle of spring as the cherry blossoms are blooming, that Bokuto has not crossed his mind in over a month.

A year passes, and Akaashi moves on. He applies to jobs and settles for a decently-paid role as a manga editor. He graduates and gets brunch with his university friends once a month. He learns how to bake, meets new people, goes on a few first dates.

He learns to live a life that doesn’t have Bokuto in it and he heals.

He goes on a second date with a grad student named Haruki who works part-time at a fancy coffee shop and plays bass in a band. He goes on a third date, and Haruki is soft-spoken and kind and compliments Akaashi’s writing. He peppers soft kisses along Akaashi’s jawline and never pushes his boundaries. On the fourth date, Haruki asks Akaashi to be his boyfriend. Akaashi says yes.

They go out for a few months, and one night, Akaashi finds himself spooning with Haruki on the couch, watching a nature documentary after a long day at work. His eyelids feel heavy, and David Attenborough has a very soothing voice, so he’s only partially paying attention.

_The great horned owl, also known as the tiger owl or hoot owl, is native to the Americas. It is aggressive and powerful in its hunting and can be found in a wide variety of forests and open habitats such as fields, wetlands, and swamps._

Akaashi sleepily recalls out loud that his high school mascot was an owl. Haruki chuckles warmly.

_Their mating season starts around October when male great horned owls will begin a courtship display, loudly hooting during dawn and dusk. Great horned owls are monogamous, and a pair can stay together for fifteen to twenty years. Most mate for life._

He suddenly feels awake, and he’s sick to his stomach. He looks at this stupid great horned owl—with its stupid tufts—nesting with its stupid life-long partner. Akaashi tries to not cry over this stupid owl documentary that reminds him of an ex that he broke up with over a year ago, but the stupid great horned owl mates for life, and if stupid birds can do it then why couldn’t they make it work?

He breaks up with Haruki a month later over some trivial reason that he can’t even remember.

✧ ✧ ✧

_My head is stripped just like a screw that’s been tightened too many times when I think of you._

It starts with an advertisement for some cologne.

After the nature documentary-turned-breakup incident, Akaashi sees Bokuto everywhere, starting with a fifteen-foot high billboard next to Tokyo Station for a high-end fragrance company. The image displays the profile of Bokuto’s head tipped back, glistening drops of sweat sliding down the bared expanse of his neck. His eyes are closed, a smirk on his lips, and it’s an expression Akaashi has seen a thousand times, but it still makes his stomach flutter.

Then it’s a thirty-second commercial for an ad campaign—a collaboration between the Black Jackals and some deodorant company—that pops up before every other YouTube video. Bokuto waves a yellow-capped stick that apparently smells like citrus, and even though the color matches his irises, Akaashi can’t help but think that it would have been more accurate if he was paired with a sugar-scented product.

A few weeks later, the sports store four blocks from his office changes the window displays to floor-to-ceiling action shot posters of various professional athletes, and of course, Bokuto is featured. He’s mid-air, arm wound back for a spike, determination burning in his golden eyes. It reminds Akaashi of the extra practices that started their friendship. His eyes trace the defined arch of his back, the sinewed shape of his arms, the muscular and powerful thighs. That night in the shower, he remembers the way his body used to fit against the curves of Bokuto’s muscles, and he washes the sticky evidence of his memories down the drain.

On a Friday night in the middle of summer, he goes out drinking with his co-workers to mourn the cancellation of their manga _Zombie Knight Zom’bish._ After months of proposals and meetings and desperate attempts to save the series, they were given only ten final issues to end the story. He’s more gutted than he expected, but this was his first series, and he had grown to view _Zom’bish_ as a product of pride over the years.

“What’s got you looking all sad?”

Akaashi looks over and sees Udai, the lead mangaka for _Zom’bish,_ walk up next to him at the bar.

“Udai-san, _Zom’bish_ just got canceled,” Akaashi says with a straight face.

Udai waves a hand in the air. “Duh, I mean that’s why we’re all here drinking. Also, I’ve already told you—you can just call me Tenma,” he laughs, “But I know you still won’t.”

Akaashi chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.

“You have this sad face right now, though. A different kind of sad,” Udai continues. It’s kind of a personal question, but he figures the loss of a project and the steady flow of alcohol are more than enough to lower people’s inhibitions.

It’s enough to loosen his tongue, which is maybe why he doesn’t lie.

“Yeah... Just a lot on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?” Udai asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “I don’t want to burden you with my personal problems.”

“Well,” Udai slides into the chair next to Akaashi. “I’ve got all night, and people tell me that I’m a good listener.”

Akaashi finishes off his beer and calls out to the bartender to order a glass of water and two shots of vodka. If he’s going to be emotionally vulnerable with his co-worker, then he’ll need a lot more alcohol.

“It’s been two years since I broke up with my ex and I thought I was over it, but I can’t stop thinking about him lately,” he says slowly after throwing back the shot. He realizes too late that he just accidentally came out to his co-worker.

“What made you start thinking about him again?” Udai asks, unfazed.

“Somestupidbirddocumentary,” Akaashi mumbles into the rim of his glass.

“What was that?”

“Nothing important. Just some little things that reminded me of him.”

Udai hums and leans forward, propping his elbows on the bar counter. Akaashi takes the other shot.

“Do you have any regrets that you’re still holding onto?”

Akaashi nearly chokes on the liquor. “That’s quite a loaded question, Udai-san,” he coughs. Udai thumps him on the back and Akaashi takes a sip of water. “But yeah. I do. I lost count years ago.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Akaashi orders another beer just to have something to fiddle with. The quiet is nice—Akaashi doesn’t feel any pressure from Udai to say anything, and Udai simply holds space for Akaashi to exist in his misery. He finishes his beer before he talks again.

“I always wished we could have made it work.”

“Why didn’t it?” Udai immediately responds.

“We were long distance and it just wasn’t enough,” Akaashi says, the alcohol easing his body into a warm, comfortable hum. “I was dealing with a lot of insecurities back then. I just wanted more than he could give me at the time, and we eventually just fell out of love.”

“Do you think you could make it work now?”

“Who knows,” he laughs, “I haven’t talked to him in over two years.”

“What if you reached out to reconnect?”

Akaashi chuckles, but there’s no humor in his voice. “I wish it was as easy as you make it sound, Udai-san.”

Udai smiles back warmly. “Sometimes the most complicated things are, deep down, quite simple.”

Akaashi mulls over his co-worker’s words. Akaashi already has a long list of regrets, so what’s the harm of one more potential mistake? He has liquid courage in his veins tonight and the lack of sobriety makes him feel reckless, so he reaches for his phone and pulls up Bokuto’s contact card, but before he can hit the call button, the phone gets snatched out of his hands.

“I meant to reach out when you’re sober, not when you’re drunk and probably going to say something stupid,” Udai reprimands in mock horror, but he’s laughing. He tucks Akaashi’s phone into his pocket for safekeeping.

Akaashi throws his face in his hands. “I don’t feel so good right now.”

“Emotionally or physically?”

“Yes.”

Udai chuckles. “Let’s get you a cab home.”

He drapes Akaashi’s arm over his shoulders to support his weight, and they stumble into the street and wait together as Akaashi attempts to order an Uber. The letters blend together on Akaashi’s screen and he squints to read, but that just makes his dizziness worse and he ends up vomiting in a bush.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the evening, but he makes it home all in one piece and wakes up the next morning with a raging hangover. The memories of last night hit him, and he groans into his pillow in embarrassment. He sends a quick text to Udai to thank him for his help, then he pulls up a web browser on his phone and types in _therapists near me._

There aren’t many explicitly queer-friendly therapists in the area—he tries a few in Tokyo but none of them are a good fit. He expands his search and does an intake interview over the phone with someone named Hoshi Yua, and he likes the way she laughs at his self-deprecating jokes and isn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

Her office is in Chiba, which is inconvenient and out of the way, but she’s one of the few therapists who explicitly affirmed all identities on her website and the only one that Akaashi actually felt comfortable with. She agrees to do remote counseling over the phone but asks him to come in person so they can meet face-to-face for the first session, so he takes an hour-long train ride across city lines and spends another hour, to his horror, crying through his first-ever therapy experience.

Seeking comfort food, he ducks into an onigiri shop across the street before he takes a train back to Tokyo.

“May I get two _umeboshi_ onigiri, please?”

“Yes, of course.” The cashier rings up the order. “Will that be all for you today?”

“That’s all, thank you.” Akaashi pays and takes a seat to wait, scrolling through his phone, a counter separating himself and a worker assembling the onigiri.

“Fukurodani, right?” a voice says next to him.

Akaashi jerks his head up and sees, across the counter, an _incredibly_ attractive man with black hair and kind eyes and a face that feels almost familiar but he can’t quite place.

“Yes…how did you know?” he asks, confused.

“You were a setter on the volleyball team,” the man says, carefully rolling balls of rice between his hands. Akaashi glances down and catches his forearms flexing as his fingers wrap nori around the onigiri.

“I also played—for Inarizaki. I think we went against each other a few times,” he explains, “I’m Miya Osamu, by the way.” He smiles at Akaashi, revealing a set of dimples, and Akaashi’s eyes trace the arch of his eyebrows and the slops of his nose.

The name triggers a memory, and Akaashi remembers two players with the same face, one with grey hair and one blonde. “Ah, I remember now,” he says, “You have a twin brother, right?”

“Yeah, Atsumu.” Osamu throws his head back and laughs. “He was the one with piss-yellow hair.”

The name rings a bell, but Akaashi can’t remember where he’s heard it before.

“That asshole still plays, too—professionally, now. For the Black Jackals,” Osamu continues, the fondness in his voice betraying his insults.

Ah, right. Atsumu, as in Bokuto’s best friend on the team. 

“That’s quite impressive,” Akaashi says after a beat, “Good for him.”

Osamu snorts, then places a dish with three identical rice balls onto the counter, pushing it a bit towards Akaashi.

“Oh, I only ordered two,” he points out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Osamu says, “It’s on the house.”

“Do you even have the authority to do that?” Akaashi teases.

“Well, I mean…” Osamu looks pointedly at something behind Akaashi, so he turns around and sees, painted on the wall, a logo of a circle around a character—宮—above a large font that spells _Onigiri Miya._

“Do you own this shop, Miya-san?” Akaashi asks, feeling embarrassed.

“Yup,” Osamu grins, “Decided to pursue the restaurant business after I quit volleyball. Atsumu’s still mad about it, but I think I’m doing okay.”

Akaashi looks at the line of patrons customers out the door.

“I think you’ve created something very successful,” Akaashi says, a reassuring smile on his face before he picks up an onigiri.

Akaashi takes the first bite and accidentally blurts out, _“Holy shit,”_ with a mouth full of rice and _umeboshi_. A few people turn to glare at him. “This is the best onigiri I’ve ever had.”

Osamu chuckles and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “That’s my favorite part about cooking for people,” he murmurs quietly, his cheeks dusted with pink, “Seeing their reactions to good food.”

They chat for a while longer after Akaashi finishes eating, but he still has an hour-long commute ahead of him so he eventually stands to take his leave.

“You should come back soon,” Osamu says as Akaashi pulls on his jacket. “I don’t give out free food to just anyone, you know.” He winks and smiles in a way that is so _charming_ that Akaashi blushes furiously and hurriedly bids him goodbye as he scurries out the door.

✧ ✧ ✧

_You were too good to be true—gold plated—but what’s inside you?_

Akaashi ends up making the hour-long commute twice a month to attend his therapy sessions in person, claiming that it helps him trust his therapist more when he can see her facial reactions. He also coincidentally stops by Onigiri Miya after every session but only because they have extraordinarily good food.

After his fourth session, he ducks into the restaurant and is disappointed to see Osamu missing from the counter. He orders his usual two _umeboshi_ and sits and eats in silence.

“Excuse me,” he gently interrupts the woman working across the counter, “Is Miya-san not in today?”

“Unfortunately he’s not,” she says, “He splits his time between this shop and the original branch in Hyogo. Except I think he’s actually in Tokyo for a meeting today.”

The next time Akaashi sees Osamu, he asks about it.

“So…I heard you were in Tokyo for a meeting a few weeks ago?” he asks slyly, “Can I get my hopes up for a Tokyo location soon, Miya-san?”

“Did Yumeko tell you?” Osamu shakes his head and laughs. “It’s just an idea for now, but I’m thinking about expanding.”

“What can I do to convince you to open a branch in Tokyo?”

“Wow, you’re really excited about the Tokyo part of it,” Osamu says teasingly.

“I live there. My dream is to eat your onigiri every single day,” Akaashi sighs.

“Even I would get sick of eating it that often,” Osamu snickers. “If you live in Tokyo, what are you doing out here in Chiba so often?”

“I have therapy across the street every other week,” he answers truthfully.

“Oh, Hoshi-sensei? She’s great!” Akaashi looks up in surprise. “I see her sometimes, too.”

Osamu moves onto a different topic as if nothing had happened, and Akaashi is grateful. He likes Osamu and enjoys his company, but he’s not quite ready to divulge his reasons for going to therapy. It’s usually a bad idea to spill your messy romantic history in front of a cute guy you maybe have a crush on.

Akaashi notices after that day that Osamu, without fail, works at the Chiba branch every time Akaashi has a therapy appointment. Their bi-monthly ritual begins with small talk about work or weekend plans, but they always eventually end up on tangents that take them to more intimate topics like existential fears or life philosophies. Akaashi starts staying longer and longer at the restaurant after his sessions, and Osamu never asks him to leave, even when it’s almost closing and Osamu needs to sweep the floor and wipe down the tables.

“Have another one, on the house.” Osamu places a freshly wrapped onigiri on Akaashi’s plate and winks.

“You’re going to go out of business if you keep giving out free food like this,” Akaashi tries to refuse.

“Oh, um…” Osamu glances down and his cheeks turn pink. “I only do it for you.”

Akaashi blushes, his face burning. He bites into the onigiri and makes a small noise of surprise.

“Myaa-sam, is this a new flavor?” He looks up, eyes wide.

Osamu blushes at the nickname. “Yeah, I’m trying out something new for the menu.”

“It’s delicious. You should definitely add it,” Akaashi remarks with a smile.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll name it after you,” Osamu smirks, leaning in close against the counter.

Akaashi feels his heart rate speed up and stammers, “Why would you do that?”

Osamu gazes at Akaashi and his stare flickers down for a second. After a moment, he simply says, “No reason in particular,” and resumes wrapping sheets of nori around rice.

It takes Akaashi a few minutes to regain his composure after that.

The flirting continues for a few weeks until one night when a man with black-grey hair walks through the door carrying two heavy-looking sacks.

“Kita!” Osamu exclaims, nearly dropping a dish. “I thought you were coming tomorrow!”

“Yes, I had a special delivery near here today so I brought your order as well. I hope it’s not an inconvenience,” the man—Kita—says.

“Not at all.” Osamu rushes around the counter to heave the sacks from Kita’s shoulders. “I should already thank you for coming all the way out here so often.”

“I have one more in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

Akaashi watches the exchange with interest, and when Kita leaves, he follows Osamu’s gaze out the door at Kita’s retreating back.

“Sorry about that.” Osamu rushes back behind the counter after washing his hands. “That was Kita. He works on a rice farm and supplies my most important ingredient,” he says fondly.

“So he’s the man I have to thank for my onigiri addiction,” Akaashi teases.

Osamu pretends to smack Akaashi’s arm with a towel. “Hey, I do all the work putting together the flavors!”

“I’m sure you do,” Akaashi says with a smirk.

“He was actually my captain, as well. Back then,” Osamu goes on.

“So you’ve known each other for a long time, then?”

“Yeah, since my first year,” Osamu recalls, “So what, like seven or eight years now?”

“Tell me more about him.”

Akaashi listens as Osamu retells stories of Kita as Inarizaki’s captain—how he made everyone run laps if someone showed up late to practice, the way he never laughed at any of the twins’ jokes, the time Osamu got jealous because Atsumu overworked himself and got sick so Kita gave him a care package.

When Osamu talks about Kita, there’s a tenderness in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. It’s an expression that Akaashi is familiar with.

“You love him, don’t you?” Akaashi finally asks as Osamu locks up after closing.

Osamu’s hands freeze on the door handle. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“You should go for it someday.” Akaashi smiles tightly, ignoring the twist in his heart. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

✧ ✧ ✧

_I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me._

Akaashi ends up telling Osamu about Bokuto after a particularly difficult therapy session, and his crush fades away after they bond over the angst of unrequited love. Osamu’s a good listener when it comes to tragic love lives—his presence if comforting and he doesn’t try to give unsolicited advice—and Akaashi genuinely appreciates his friendship.

“Why do I still miss him so much?” Akaashi lays his head against the counter one day, moping after a therapy session.

“I don’t know, why do you miss him so much?” Osamu asks teasingly.

“Why do you miss Kita when he’s not around?” Akaashi shoots back.

Osamu’s taken aback, unable to answer, and Akaashi bites back a smirk.

“Exactly. There isn’t a reason, it’s just…an all-encompassing existence,” Akaashi groans.

“Okay, well,” Osamu says, “what exactly do you miss about him?”

Akaashi buries his face in his hands. “God. Everything. The way we just fit together. How supportive he was. How he would make me laugh so hard that I’d cry. The feeling of holding his hand or sticking my face in his neck when we’re hugging and smelling that distinct sugary scent. I even miss how long it took him to do his stupid hair every morning,” he grumbles.

Osamu lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you’re simping real hard right now, Akaashi.”

“Shut uuuuuup,” Akaashi whines, “It’s not like you’re any better with Kita. When are you gonna do something about that, by the way?”

A blush starts rising on Osamu’s neck. “Hey! I’m just…taking my time.”

“It’s been seven years, Miya.”

“It’s a very delicate situation!” Osamu protests, his voice getting louder and shriller.

“Mhmm,” Akaashi hums, unconvinced.

“I’ll tell him if you tell Bokuto.”

“What kind of a deal is that?” Akaashi asks, bewildered, “They’re two very different situations.”

“Are they really, though? We’ve both been pining for seven years over our former captains,” Osamu reasons.

Akaashi squints his eyes. “Except I _actually_ dated Bokuto and it _already_ didn’t work out.”

Osamu shrugs. “That’s true. You might regret it if you don’t, though.”

He thinks about his words of advice thrown back at him longer than he’ll admit.

“Sometimes I just get the urge to call him for no reason,” he tells his therapist one day, leaning back in the plush armchair and fiddling with the fringe of a pillow.

“If you did call him, what would you say?” Hoshi asks in a curious yet neutral tone.

“I don’t know. I’d probably just panic and hang up.”

Hoshi chuckles. “If you could say whatever you wanted without any consequences—like, imagine he just completely forgets about the conversation the next day—what would you tell him?”

Akaashi thinks to himself for a minute. “How much I miss him. How I still think about him all the time.”

“What usually makes you think of him? Are there any specific triggers?”

“I mean, I have to see his face in ads and shit all the time because he’s a goddamn celebrity,” he says sarcastically. “But I also see him in the stupidest things.” His voice wavers. “Like, I nearly had a breakdown in the middle of a _konbini_ last week because I saw red bean buns and I remembered how I used to get them for him all the time.”

“What would you be missing out on if you never talked to him again?”

Akaashi goes quiet. “I’m not sure,” he finally says, “Closure, maybe?”

“What would it take for you to feel closure?”

“I don’t know if this is just stupid romantic idealism,” he mutters, “but I keep wondering if he was _the one,_ you know? No one else has felt as right as it felt to be with him. What if he was the great love of my life?”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” Hoshi says gently, “Do you want to spend some time thinking about whether you want to ever reach out to him again?”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Akaashi remarks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Akaashi ;-; don't worry, good things happen for him next chapter! Come say hi to me on [twitter :)](https://twitter.com/sakuatsusadboi)


	3. Chapter 3

✧ ✧ ✧

_ I’m here in search of your glory; there’s been a million before me. _

Akaashi makes a mental note to check in with his therapist—something in his brain must be messed up to explain why he is attending an MSBY Black Jackals match.

He could have said no when his supervisor asked if he wanted to work on a pitch for a new sports manga. He could have said no when his lead artist asked if he wanted to go on a work trip for field research. He could have said no when he woke up this morning and felt like throwing up.

Yet here he is on a 10,980 yen bullet train to Sendai.

“Are you doing okay, Akaashi? You look a little pale.”

The cabin lightly lurches forward.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking, Udai-san. It’s just a bit of motion sickness, I’m sure.” Akaashi manages a weak smile and changes the topic. “Do you know who you’re interviewing yet?”

“No, not yet. The Jackals PR rep just said that it’ll be whoever has media availability today,” he answers.

Akaashi nods, but he just feels more nauseous. There are twelve players on the MSBY roster, so there’s a 91.66 percent chance that they’ll interview someone who is not his ex-boyfriend. The odds are mostly in his favor.

“Thank you for coming with me on this trip, by the way,” Udai interrupts his anxious spiral.

“Of course, Udai-san. It’s my duty as your editor.” Akaashi smiles more genuinely. “I also played volleyball in high school, so I’m still fond of the sport.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you played! You went to Fukurodani, right?”

“Correct,” Akaashi nods. “If I recall, you also played, right?”

“Yep!” Udai grins. “Karasuno, back home in Miyagi.”

“What position did you play?”

“Outside hitter.” He leans back in his seat. “What about you?”

“I was a setter, although I have a lot of respect for spikers. Our team’s former ace actually plays on the Jackals now.” Akaashi can’t help but show off just a bit, even if it sets off a slight pang between his ribs.

Udai nearly jumps out of his seat. “What!?  _ Who!? _ Akaashi, how did you forget to mention that one of your old teammates plays for the professional V.League team we’re seeing today?”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Akaashi answers with a small smile. “We used to be”—Akaashi cuts himself off, then hesitates—“friends. He was an incredible player, and everyone on the team knew he’d go pro. We drifted apart a while ago, though.”

“Wow, you were friends with  _ the _ Bokuto.” Udai, impressed, lets out a long whistle.

Akaashi’s smile is tight.  _ Friends. _

“Makes sense,” Udai continues, oblivious to Akaashi’s internal suffering, “Back in my day, Fukurodani was a powerhouse school.”

Akaashi politely returns Udai’s compliment. “You must be proud of your alma mater, as well. Karasuno made quite the comeback during my second year, and they’ve been very strong since then.”

“Yeah, I actually went to see them play the first year they made it back to nationals. That freak duo was scary but impressive. Did you know anyone on the team?”

“Bokuto-san was very fond of Hinata who, as you probably know, also recently joined the Jackals. Karasuno and Fukurodani had some practice matches and training camps together, but I was never particularly close with anyone,” Akaashi explains.

“I know what you mean. I’m still Facebook friends with dozens of people from the circuit—I even considered some of them close friends at one point—but we never talk anymore. I guess that’s just how high school is.” Udai’s eyes mist over, wistful.

“Right,” Akaashi nods.

“Did you ever play after high school?” Udai asks.

Akaashi would be lying if he said he hadn’t once dreamt of setting for Bokuto on a university team together, or if he pretended that he never played casually at a park or on the beach. Even now, despite having not touched a ball in years, volleyball still feels like a part of his identity, the first of many stepping stones, the foundation of the person he has become.

Akaashi shakes his head. “No. Some things are better left in the past.”

When they finally arrive, Akaashi beelines for the Miya Onigiri stand while Udai finds their seats. He makes small talk with Osamu, and the onigiri is delicious, as always. It helps quell his twisting stomach, but Akaashi still can’t stop his heart from pounding or his knee from bouncing. 

During the player introductions, Bokuto cartwheels onto the court, and Akaashi nearly stands up and flees from the stadium. He has to remind himself that he is here on a work assignment and he needs to stay professional, but he still feels some type of way when thousands of people cheer for his former lover.

Once the match ends, Udai and Akaashi wait in their seats while fans descend onto the court to meet the players. Bokuto’s line has hundreds of people, and Akaashi wonders how many of them are new fans who were pulled into Bokuto’s orbit after he and Akaashi had already stopped talking.

As the crowds dwindle, Akaashi and Udai make their way down to meet up with the PR rep that Udai had been in contact with. Akaashi doesn’t catch her name because the proximity to the court makes his ears ring, but she’s very nice and polite, and she directs them to a bench where they are told to sit and wait until the conclusion of the player meet-and-greet.

“Here are arena badges that will let you go backstage,” Akaashi hears her explain as she hands them a pair of lanyards with plastic cards attached. “Once he’s done with the fans, you can go introduce yourselves and he’ll take you to one of the media rooms where you can conduct the interview.”

“Thank you very much for all your help,” Udai says, politely bowing.

“It’s my pleasure! Is there anything else I can help you with before I leave?”

Akaashi clears his throat. “Do you know who we’ll be interviewing today?” he asks.

“Of course! You’ll be interviewing Bokuto Koutarou—it’s his turn for media availability, but I’m sure he would have jumped at the opportunity even if it wasn’t,” she laughs.

Akaashi’s blood runs cold. 91.66 percent, yet luck is clearly not in his favor today.

He spirals in anxiety, pulse racing and nervously sweating, until they are given a thumbs-up for the end of the meet-and-greet. Akaashi stands up and walks in a haze, completely unaware of his own surroundings until Udai nudges him. 

He promptly realizes, firstly,  _ Oh no we’re here and he’s right there _ and, immediately afterward,  _ Oh no I’m supposed to introduce them since we were teammates.  _ Despite his overthinking, he did not anticipate this.

Bokuto is still chatting with the last few lingering fans, crouched on the ground and signing a jersey on his bent knee for a young girl. He smiles effortlessly, asks the girl if she plays volleyball, and charms her like he charms the rest of the world. Then he waves goodbye to the fan, glances up, and drops his pen.

“K— Akaashi?” Bokuto opens and closes his mouth a few times, still kneeling against the floor.

What do you say to someone you once knew better than yourself but is now just a stranger?

Akaashi steps forward and politely nods his head. “Hello, Bokuto-san.”

“I— Wh— What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with Udai Tenma—I’m his editor.” Akaashi steps aside to introduce his coworker.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bokuto-senshu.” Udai bows lightly. “We’re interviewing you today as research for an upcoming sports manga series pitch. I’ve heard great things about you from Akaashi—do you mind signing my pamphlet?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Bokuto scrambles to find his dropped pen, stands up, and signs Udai’s booklet. He then turns to Akaashi expectantly.

“Oh. Uh…” Akaashi panics, so he thrusts out the small paper ticket for the game. Bokuto takes it from his hand, and the tips of his fingers brush Akaashi’s knuckles with a tiny static shock.

“Ack, sorry about that,” Bokuto nervously laughs, running a hand through his hair. He quickly signs the piece of paper and returns it to Akaashi, and this time, their hands do not meet. Akaashi feels a flutter of disappointment and quickly ignores it.

“So um, should we get going then?” Bokuto asks, tilting his head toward the exit.

“Oh! Yes. The interview,” Akaashi stammers, his mouth refusing to cooperate with his brain. “Yes. We should do that. Let’s go.”

Bokuto quietly leads them backstage through a series of corridors until they reach a door labeled  _ MEDIA. _ Inside is a plain white room, except for a black-painted single wall with a large Black Jackals emblem—Akaashi recognizes the backdrop from Bokuto’s interviews—and in the center is a long table surrounded by black office chairs. Bokuto gestures for them to sit down and Akaashi intentionally maneuvers himself so that Udai is sitting between him and Bokuto.

Bokuto spins his chair back and forth. “So what can I do for you today?”

“We’ll just be asking you some questions, and of course, you can choose to skip any that you don’t want to answer,” Udai explains, pulling a notepad out of his backpack. “Is it okay if we voice-record this interview for transcription purposes?”

Bokuto nods.

“I don’t know how much PR told you, but we’re hoping to make a pitch for a new sports manga about volleyball. Feel free to share as much as you want—we mostly just want to get in the head of someone who’s dedicated his life to the sport.”

“Sounds great!” 

Akaashi lets Udai take the lead in the interview, since he’s the head writer and illustrator for the manga, and he sits silently in the background. He tries to not stare at Bokuto, but there isn’t much else in the room to focus his gaze on, so he pulls out a journal and pretends to take interview notes.

Udai starts with the first question, and Akaashi notices that Bokuto’s shoulders are hunched over and he’s fiddling with the chair armrests, flipping them up and down as he continues to lightly spin the chair back and forth.

He tries to ignore the way that Bokuto’s eyes flick over to meet Akaashi’s every so often. Bokuto quickly looks down, almost bashful, and spins a full 360 degrees every time Akaashi catches him.

But after a few questions, Bokuto finally starts to settle in, his awkwardness transitioning into his usual loud, larger-than-life personality. He sits up straighter, his eyes light up, and he excitedly gesticulates as he talks about himself. He pauses at the right moments in his storytelling and he laughs in that infectious way that makes Akaashi unconsciously chuckle along.

He’s reminded of how they laughed together that night Bokuto asked Akaashi to set for him, of all the things that made him fall in love in the first place. Akaashi is helpless to the gravitational pull of Bokuto’s presence.

“Alright, this is my last question. So it goes without saying that being the ace of a Division 1 V.League team takes a lot of dedication and hard work. What helps you stay focused?”

Bokuto hums to himself, eyebrows drawn together, trying to come up with an answer. There’s a tiny scrunch in his nose as he thinks, and Akaashi’s chest aches at it—it reminds him of late nights in each other’s childhood bedrooms studying for exams, time-outs and team huddles during tournaments, that one time Akaashi tried to teach Bokuto how to file taxes.

“I actually had a really hard time focusing when I was younger,” Bokuto finally says, “and I would feel discouraged a lot. Usually, it was something really stupid. I think during nationals my senior year, I had a sliiiight,” he draws out the vowel, laughing sheepishly, “meltdown because we were playing in the annex gymnasium and I was upset that the audience was smaller.”

_ Bokuto weakness #6: he loves attention and gets upset when he isn’t in the spotlight,  _ Akaashi’s brain involuntarily supplies. Akaashi tries to internally punch his own consciousness.

“I, um…” Bokuto pauses and glances at Akaashi. “I was really lucky, though, because I had someone who somehow just got me. Like, he always knew exactly what was wrong whenever I got into a funk, and he always knew how to pull me out of it. We spent a lot of time trying to find ways for me to control my mood swings and stay motivated. He taught me how to meditate, which I didn’t understand at first, but I figured it out after he explained that it’s basically just vibing to your breaths. He always knew how to explain things to me like that. He also suggested making a hype playlist, and I still listen to it before every match. I can focus a lot better when I play now. I owe it all to him.” Bokuto softly smiles at Akaashi, his gaze lingering and his cheeks pink.

Akaashi tries to force down the blush rising at the base of his neck, staring pointedly at the paper in front of him, and his heart pounds—almost painfully—against his ribs. He desperately hopes that it isn’t as loud to anyone else as it is to him. He notices Udai glance back and forth between Bokuto and Akaashi, and he wants to wipe the knowing smile off Udai’s face.

“Well, that’s all the questions I had prepared,” Udai quips after a cough, interrupting the tense atmosphere. “Is there anything else you’d like to add, Bokuto-senshu?”

Bokuto’s eyes snap back to Udai. “Uh, nope. I think I’m good!”

Udai packs up his things and stands, bowing to Bokuto; Akaashi follows the gesture.

“Thank you very much for your time, Bokuto-senshu. It was a pleasure to meet you, and the interview will be very helpful for our pitch,” Udai says.

Bokuto scrambles up out of his chair. “Oh it’s no problem, really! I’m glad I got to do it.” He glances at Akaashi. “Here, I’ll walk you out. It can get pretty confusing backstage,” he laughs.

He leads the way to the exit, uncharacteristically silent, and Akaashi nearly chokes on the tension in the air. Akaashi blinks at the sudden afternoon sunlight once they step outside.

“Wait,” Bokuto says suddenly as they turn to leave.

Akaashi raises his eyebrows.

“I—“ Bokuto sheepishly rubs a hand on the back of his neck and hesitates. “Um, good luck on your manga pitch! It sounds really cool.” 

Udai bows again. “Thank you, Bokuto-senshu!”

Akaashi curtly nods. “Good luck on your future matches, Bokuto-san. I’ll be rooting for you.”

To anyone else, it would just be an off-hand, courteous thing to say, but Bokuto beams at the comment.

“Excuse me if this is presumptuous or overstepping,” Udai says on the walk back to the station, a knowing smile on his face, “but that ex you almost called that night at the bar after Zom’bish got canceled… Is he, by any chance, Bokuto?”

Akaashi sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe. He just looks at you the same way you looked when you talked about him that night.” Udai shrugs. “Anyways, I’m super hyped for this new pitch! After seeing the infamous Bokuto Beam in person, I’m thinking of calling it  _ Meteo Attack.” _

They brainstorm ideas for the new manga until they reach the station, and Akaashi forgets about the autographed ticket until he takes his seat on the train and is halfway back to Tokyo.

He takes the small sheet of paper out of his coat pocket, and his eyes catch on a small heart drawn by the messy signature. It strikes a familiar chord—he’s seen this heart by this name hundreds of times on love letters from his youth, handmade birthday and anniversary cards, sticky notes left on his fridge. It’s a scrawl he hasn’t seen in years.

_ I owe it all to him, _ he replays in his head, the ghost of Bokuto’s almost-timid smile seared in his memory. Bokuto, who talks too loudly and takes up space and is larger than life, reduced to a nervous, blushing boy in Akaashi’s presence—a tender and soft secret hidden from the world, for Akaashi’s eyes only.

He traces the tiny heart with his thumb over and over again, and if he closes his eyes, he can still remember the rough calluses of Bokuto’s hands under his fingertips. Skin on skin.

And it’s such a simple thing, really, something as ordinary as skin, but it’s probably why Akaashi kicks his shoes off in the genkan, makes a beeline for his laptop, and types in  _ Black Jackals season schedule. _ Maybe it’s why he purchases a ticket for the next home game, reserves a seat on the Shinkansen, and spends the next three weeks panicking.

✧ ✧ ✧

_ I’m done with having dreams… The thing I believe—you drain the fear from me. _

Akaashi sips an overpriced caramel mocha latte monstrosity that he impulsively bought at Tokyo Station—he doesn’t even like coffee, but he was early for the train and got too anxious just standing around, so he entered the nearest coffee shop and ordered the first thing he saw on the menu.

He scrunches his nose at the too-sweet beverage.

Akaashi is not an impulsive man—he likes schedules and itineraries and predictability. He likes to methodically analyze problems and strategize to find the best solution. He has a spreadsheet created with his therapist that outlines his life goals. So the spur-of-the-moment decision to seek out Bokuto at one of his games, triggered by something as trivial as a scrawled heart on a piece of paper, is somewhat out of character, but if he’s being honest, it’s been three years in the making.

Besides, he analyzed the odds after his post-purchase panic and he’s about seventy percent sure that this is a good idea. Texting or calling Bokuto out of the blue would have been too awkward, so that was out of the question. The Jackals are predicted to win today, so Bokuto will be in a good mood. He will have hundreds of fans to greet after the game, so Akaashi will only have limited contact. and he can run away if things go south.

Everything will be fine, he tells himself as he drinks half of his latte during the three-hour train ride to Osaka. He says it like a mantra as he throws the rest away when he gets off the Shinkansen, as he walks twenty minutes to the arena, finds his seat, and cheers for the Jackals when they win in straight sets. He says it as he patiently sits in the stands when the players retreat to the locker room for quick post-game showers and as he falls into line when the arena staff allows fans to enter the court.

He waits—not very long, far too long, twenty minutes, three years; he inches forward—he is an object in motion that stays in motion until it is met by another force. He reaches the front, mere feet from Bokuto, and stops.

He holds his breath.

“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto is surprised to see him again.

“Hello again, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi smiles and bows his head. He withdraws a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds, and hands it to Bokuto. “This is for you.”

He watches Bokuto’s eyes flit across the page, reading the lines so meticulously written.

_ night by night, the stars _ _   
_ _ rise—all I see is how you _ _   
_ __ manifest their light

Akaashi knows these lines by heart—they’re from one of the first poems he wrote in university while knee-deep in his first love. Most of his poems back then were about the star in his life, but he was too embarrassed to ever show them to Bokuto. Now, he is older and more confident and more forthcoming, and he still writes about the stars.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says slowly and looks up, “what does this mean?”

“It means I miss you, and I would like to try this again?” Akaashi makes it sound like a question, quickly losing his confidence and self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

Bokuto’s eyes are wide. Fearful? Hopeful?

“‘Kaashi, what—”

The PR staff overseeing the fan meet-and-greet starts to urge Akaashi to move on already so that the next fan can get their turn, which just makes Akaashi more flustered. His face feels burning hot.

Akaashi closes his eyes, takes a quick breath as his therapist taught him, gets re-centered, and steels himself when he opens his eyes. He drops his hand and makes an attempt to straighten his posture.

“I would like to take you on a date, Bokuto-san. If you’ll let me.”

The sun breaks when Bokuto smiles.

He opens his mouth to answer, but Akaashi has long overstayed his turn at the meet-and-greet and the staff have a job to do, so Akaashi is politely but firmly guided away.

Bokuto leans over and pokes his head over the staff member. “Call me tonight? Please?”

Akaashi nods. “I will, Bokuto-san.”

So that night, he calls—even after all this time, he could never bring himself to delete Bokuto’s contact info—and Bokuto picks up on the first ring.

_ “Keiji!” _

It sounds like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is the conclusion of the story from Akaashi's POV, and the final chapter will be an epilogue! I'll try to post the next chapter tomorrow -- just have to finish writing a scene. Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sakuatsusadboi) in the meantime :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this chapter but I've been editing and re-editing it for weeks now and I just accepted I will never be 100% satisfied with it .__. I hope you enjoy the fluff! (and softcore porn with feelings lol)

✧ ✧ ✧

_ That ultra-kind of love you never walk away from. _

“Myaa-sam, you’re being very unhelpful right now.” Akaashi throws his phone on the bed and huffs, taking off his jacket, and Osamu’s laughter rings out over the video call.

“Haha, alright, I’m being serious though. You could literally show up in sweatpants and Bokuto would still be over the moon about it.”

“I am not showing up to a first date in sweatpants!”

“Good thing you’re not wearing sweatpants, then. Now just pick a damn jacket before you’re late.”

Akaashi leans over his bed until his face is visible in the little screen in the corner, and he screws his face into his most desperate, pleading expression.

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine. Show me the options again?”

Akaashi picks up his phone and shows Osamu a mid-length grey winter jacket and a long brown coat.

“Go for the brown one—it’ll make your eyes stand out.”

Akaashi flips the camera to show a grateful smile. “Thank you, Osamu.”

Osamu waves his hand. “Yeah yeah anytime, now go get your man already.”

Twenty minutes later, he’s out the door and on a bullet train to a restaurant in Nagoya where he and Bokuto agreed to meet—less than an hour and a half from Tokyo and an hour from Osaka, the closest to halfway they could get. Akaashi checked the reviews on Yelp and he hopes that he picked the right venue, the right mood, the right setting. 

The restaurant is fifteen minutes from the station but the walk feels like hours. Akaashi checks the map on his phone, then checks it another five times until finally turns the corner and the restaurant comes into view.

He sees Bokuto already standing in front of the building waiting for him, the lit-up trees casting warmth on the street and making his hair glow. Bokuto, with his broad shoulders and black turtleneck and half-zipped bomber jacket, is a sight to behold, and Akaashi really is a silly man because the venue and the mood and the setting never mattered when the rest of the world was just going to melt away the second he laid his eyes on Bokuto.

Bokuto rocks on his feet, hands in his pockets, nearly bouncing when he sees Akaashi turn the corner. As he makes his way down the sidewalk, Bokuto stills and stares, eyes transfixed on Akaashi’s moving body. Akaashi self-consciously adjusts his glasses and tucks a stray curl of hair behind his ear.

He clears his throat when he reaches Bokuto. “Hello Bokuto-san, thank you for meeting me here.”

“Hi ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto grins, “You look good. Like, really good.”

“Thank you,” Akaashi ducks his head, his cheeks warming. “You look very nice as well.”

“Thanks!” Bokuto proudly puffs his chest. “I’m really excited,” he says, suddenly earnest. Akaashi’s heart stutters, and he returns Bokuto’s smile.

“Me too. Shall we head inside?”

It’s a little awkward at first, awkwardly shuffling around each other and making small talk, like two new acquaintances still unsure of each other’s boundaries, but by the time their meals arrive, they’ve fallen into a familiar cadence.

“—and Atsumu convinced Hinata that he likes being called Omi, so Hinata calls him Omi-san now, which is already hilarious, but the funniest part is that he gets mad and gets really pissy at Atsumu whenever Hinata calls him Omi-san because no one is allowed to be mad at Hinata.”

Akaashi covers his mouth, laughing, and tries to not snort rice—he hasn’t laughed like this in years.

“I still remember how terrifying Sakusa-san was when we went up against Itachiyama during third year—I can’t imagine him letting anyone use a nickname. Why does he let Atsumu get away with it?”

Bokuto glances around conspiratorially then leans forward and loudly whispers, “I think they’re crushing on each other super hard, but they’re both too stubborn to admit it. I kind of want to start a betting pool for when they’ll finally crack and hook up.”

“You’re quite perceptive, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi notes, “Always have been.”

“Thanks ‘Kaashi!” Bokuto glows under the praise. “Also, I’ve already told you, you can use Koutarou. Or just Bokuto, at least.”

“Sorry,” Akaashi smiles a little bashfully, “old habits die hard.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. I just want you to feel comfortable,” Bokuto assures him. He uses his chopsticks to pick up a few pieces of vegetables and reaches over the table to Akaashi’s side.

“Here, you should eat more of these.  _ Nanohana no karashiae, _ your favorite right?” He transfers more of the soy sauce-drenched greens to Akaashi’s bowl.

_ Oh,  _ Akaashi thinks, staring at the vegetables in his bowl,  _ he still remembers. _

“Y-yes,” he finally says, “thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“No problem,” Bokuto says, blissfully oblivious to how raw Akaashi’s insides feel at the moment, “Gotta make sure you eat lots of fiber so you can poop.”

Caught off guard, Akaashi chokes on his laughter and a few grains of rice actually shoot up his nose this time, and Bokuto laughs equally hard at his reaction.

They laugh the way they used to, but it’s also different. They’re older, more cautious, pause longer to think before they speak. They talk about new hobbies, new favorite books and guilty pleasures, new experiences and values and perspectives. 

They’re new people, and they take their second chance.

This time around, Akaashi is bolder, braver, more willing to take charge. He takes risks—small ones, but risks nonetheless—he brushes his pinky against Bokuto’s hand more than once, he hooks his ankle around Bokuto’s calf, he doesn't look away when Bokuto keeps his eyes on him.

They walk around downtown Nagoya after they pay the bill, neither unwilling to say goodbye quite yet. Bokuto asks to hold Akaashi’s hand, and Akaashi twines their fingers together. Akaashi’s hands have grown soft over the years, the rough impacts of a volleyball replaced with the smooth taps of a keyboard, but Bokuto’s feel the same—larger than life, rough with calluses yet safe and warm.

They travel up and down the lit-up city streets, aimlessly wandering and talking for hours until they find a bench in an empty park. They sit side by side, enjoying a brief moment of comfortable silence together, arms brushing, nothing but a few layers of clothes separating their bodies.

“Hey, ’Kaashi?” Bokuto asks after a few minutes.

“Yes?”

“I’m really glad you did that interview.”

Akaashi turns, and he sees Bokuto staring at him, golden eyes bright and almost shining in the darkness.

“Technically, it was Udai-san who did all of the interviewing” he teases, nudging an elbow in Bokuto’s ribs. Bokuto laughs, his voice echoing down the deserted sidewalk, and then they settle in a moment of silence. Akaashi turns his head to see Bokuto already looking down at him, faces inches apart.

“I’m also glad,” Akaashi finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bokuto lowers his eyelids, irises flickering across Akaashi’s face.

Akaashi lifts his hand, tracing his hand feather-light down Bokuto’s jaw. Bokuto closes his eyes as Akaashi brushes his thumb over Bokuto’s bottom lip, leaning into his touch.

“I really missed you, ‘Kaashi” he whispers against Akaashi’s fingers.

He doesn’t know who moves first, but suddenly,  _ finally, _ they’re kissing, and it’s just skin on skin but it’s also everything—it’s warm and soft and familiar and it’s everything he remembered and more. It’s three years of longing and thinking he had lost it forever.

Bokuto nips at Akaashi’s bottom lip and Akaashi immediately melts, opening his mouth and letting Bokuto in. Bokuto slides his tongue in with a soft exhale; his hands cradle Akaashi’s face like something precious. Their tongues press against each other and a quiet moan escapes Akaashi’s mouth, and Bokuto greedily breathes it in. 

Bokuto’s hands drift from Akaashi’s face to his chest, fingers gently trailing down the sides of his body and sending tingles that stir something deep in Akaashi’s core. He settles at Akaashi’s waist, large hands brushing against the curve of his ass, and it makes Akaashi’s entire body tremble. 

Akaashi twists his fingers in Bokuto’s hair—gel be damned—and presses deeper into the kiss until their teeth clash, demanding more and more and more, enough to satisfy his hunger after lost years. Bokuto whines somewhere in the back of his throat, and he drags his lips up Akaashi’s jaw until he’s gently sucking the soft skin behind his ear. Akaashi gasps at the jolt it sends through his skin. He cranes his neck in a silent invitation, a desperate ask for more. 

He untwines a hand from Boktuo’s hair to wrap around his waist and pull him in closer but it’s not enough until he throws a leg over Bokuto’s lap and straddles him, thick and powerful thighs pressing against Akaashi’s own.

Bokuto groans into Akaashi’s skin and his lips glide against the vast column of his neck. Feeling bold, Akaashi rolls his hips ever so slightly, and he has to hold himself back from grinding down completely when he feels something firm press against the seam of his jeans.

Their mouths slide against each other, enveloped in the warmth of their heavy breaths. 

“Aghaaashee,” Bokuto slurs, “Keiji.” He presses a kiss between his words. “Come home with me tonight,” he mumbles against Akaashi’s lips.

Akaashi silently nods, and Bokuto immediately wraps his arms under Akaashi’s thighs and stands up, fully carrying Akaashi’s entire body off the bench.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi yelps, tightening his arms around the larger man’s neck in a scramble to regain balance, “we’re in public!” 

Bokuto eventually drops Akaashi back on his feet for the sake of walking to the station. 

When they  _ finally  _ make it back to Bokuto’s apartment, Bokuto fumbles with his keys and drops them twice, and they’re a mess of bruising kisses and flailing limbs and discarded clothes all the way from the  _ genkan  _ to the bedroom, but once they make it to the bed, they slow down. They savor each other. They make up lost time.

Bokuto’s lips roam across Akaashi’s face, down his neck and chest, they touch every inch of Akaashi’s body like he’s something holy. Akaashi arches his back as Bokuto presses feather-light kisses to his hips, fists his hands in the sheets when Bokuto palms him through his underwear, throws his head back and shamelessly moans as Bokuto takes his entire length in his mouth in one swift movement. When Bokuto pushes into him, he sees white, and he almost becomes undone right then and there. It’s all so overwhelming—fingers tightening in hair, teeth grazing over muscles, nails digging into flesh, sweat-slicked bodies crashing into each other over and over and over again—yet Akaashi has never felt so full.

Bokuto handles him with care, gentle as he takes Akaashi apart by the seams, and Akaashi lets the pieces fall in Bokuto’s strong and sure hands. Their names spill from the other’s tongues over and over again, every single utterance a whispered promise to each other.

✧ ✧ ✧

_ You’re just the last of the real ones. _

Akaashi pulls out his phone and texts a quick  _ On my way!  _ before grabbing his umbrella and stepping out of the office. He sends another text— _ sorry for running late :(  _ —and speed walks to the station, careful to not slip or get his clothes wet but still in a haste. His phone dings with a new notification as he steps onto the train.

_ it’s ok!!! take ur time love _ 💛💛🦉🦉

Akaashi chuckles at the emojis and tucks his phone back in his pocket, and he mentally calculates how much time he has. If he makes a quick stop at Lawson, he’ll be about fifteen minutes late, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

He embarks on the detour and, fifteen minutes later, he enters the restaurant with a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. He weaves through the tables to the back corner where he spots spiked grey hair, and Bokuto jumps out of his seat when he sees Akaashi.

He grabs Akaashi’s face with both hands and kisses him thoroughly until Akaashi feels a little light on his feet. When they pull away, they’re both grinning, faces warm.

“Please, Bokuto, we’re in public,” he chastises, but he’s laughing as Bokuto dramatically pulls out Akaashi’s chair for him and plants another kiss on his cheek. “Happy anniversary, Kou” he says more quietly, only for Bokuto to hear, before he turns his head and kisses Bokuto back.

He lifts the bouquet still grasped in his left hand, and Bokuto’s eyes light up.

“Keiji, they’re beautiful,” Bokuto beams and accepts the sunflowers.

Bokuto reaches across the table and takes Akaashi’s hand. “Keiji, I have some really exciting news!” He’s giddy, practically squirming to jump out of his seat again.

“Yes, Bokuto?”

“I got the call today…”

Akaashi’s eyes go wide. “From the…?”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “The national team, yeah! I made it!! We’re going to the Olympics, Keiji!”

Akaashi feels tears brimming behind his glasses. His star, finally shining on the world stage for the whole universe to see. 

He rushes out of his chair, dragging Bokuto up with him and laughing hysterically, and pulls him in a bone-crushing hug. Bokuto’s chuckle rumbles under him, his voice also thick with tears, and he hugs Akaashi back until his partner’s body leaves the ground, quite literally sweeping him off his feet. They’re a laughing, sobbing mess in public in the middle of a restaurant full of strangers, but right now, there are only two people in their world.

“This is incredible. You’re incredible,” Akaashi whispers after his feet are back on the ground, Bokuto’s face in his hands. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “Have you told your family yet?”

“No, I wanted to tell you first,” Bokuto replies, settling back down in the chair.

“You did it, Kou. You made it.”

_ “We _ did it, Ji. I couldn’t have done this without you,” he says, taking Akaashi’s hand again. “That’s not even the best part, either.”

Akaashi laughs through a sob and hiccups. “What could possibly be better than going to the Olympics, Bokuto?”

“Moving in together, hopefully?” Bokuto’s face is earnest and full of hope. “I have to relocate to Tokyo for training, so I was thinking we could finally get a place together.”

A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill over Akaashi’s cheeks. All those years, all the distance. He takes Bokuto’s hand and presses it to his lips.

“Let’s do it.”

They end up getting a condo in Bunkyō halfway between Akaashi’s office and the Olympic training facilities with an open kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, and fancy wood paneling that neither of them knows the name for. Atsumu and Osamu spend a day helping them move—Bokuto and Akaashi are returning the favor next week for Atsumu who is also moving for the national team, and Osamu frequently visits the city to oversee the first stages of the new Onigiri Miya Tokyo branch.

Bokuto and Akaashi order takeout once they finish hauling everything inside, and they eat sitting on the balcony, an empty room behind them filled with haphazardly-placed furniture and scattered storage boxes.

Akaashi looks at the vast expanse of the city, lights flickering in the darkness, and sips cheap beer. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally living in the same city, together,” he murmurs against the lip of the can, “It’s like we dreamed about in college.”

Bokuto wraps an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, pulling him against his warm chest, and presses a kiss to his head. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago,” he murmurs into Akaashi’s hair.

And it really does, even though it’s only been seven years—technically less than a third of their lifetimes—since they first whispered  _ I love you _ . But in those seven years, they’ve both grown and changed, and there are so many things that are different about this version of themselves. Akaashi takes more initiative and opens up about his feelings asks for help when he needs it. Bokuto is less codependent, is able to identify his own weaknesses and figure out the solutions he needs, and his voice has a wider range of speaking volumes.

Yet, there is still comfort and ease that has never left them—not when they’re together. Their bodies seamlessly slot against each other, they speak love languages that only they understand, they balance each other out in equilibrium as natural as any law of the universe. 

They’re the same two high school volleyball teammates who fell in love and, simultaneously, brand-new people who have the rest of their lives to re-learn each other’s grooves and edges.

“I know we’re being more intentional about things this time,” Bokuto says, “and I’m not proposing or anything…”

Akaashi chokes on his beer.

“Seriously, I’m not!” Bokuto cries, defensive. “I just wanted you to know… You’re it for me, Ji. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

The lights of the city blur as Akaashi’s vision gets splotchy with tears. He turns to look at Bokuto, the brightest star of his life, and smiles.

“Me too, Koutarou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeee only one chapter left! the epilogue is 100% fluff because it's what these boys deserve!!!! send me ur bokuaka brainrot on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sakuatsusadboi)


	5. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for making akaashi hurt in this fic, so here's a happy ending to make up for it

☽☆☾

_ I’m here at the beginning of the end—the end of infinity with you. _

**Paris, 2024**

“Can you scoot a little to the left? Yeah, right there’s good.” The cameraman points the lens at a pair of figures standing off-court and adjusts the lighting. “Alright, you’re good to go. Whenever you're ready.”

“Great, thanks!” A woman in a navy blue pantsuit adjusts her blazer, puts on a bright smile, and holds up a microphone. “I’m here at Stade Pierre-Mauroy where twenty-six thousand people will be watching the much-anticipated showdown between Japan and Argentina for indoor men’s volleyball gold,” she announces with a professional reporter voice, “With me is Japan’s ace Akaashi Koutarou, formerly known as Bokuto-senshu.”

“It’s an honor to be here,” the man next to her says excitedly.

“Now, to be the best ace in all of Japan—that’s a pretty big deal. No doubt, it takes a lot of time and dedication and sacrifice to make it this far. What makes it all worth it?” the reporter asks.

Koutarou beams. “Oh that’s an easy one—my family! I wouldn’t be here without the support of my husband, Akaashi Keiji!”

_ “Bo, you gotta calm down.” _

_ “What if he gets cold feet?!” Koutarou nervously throws his face in his hands. _

_ “I have never seen anyone as disgustingly in love as Akaashi. Except for you, probably. Y’all are gross,” Atsumu says lovingly. _

_ Koutarou lights up at the thought of Keiji, his face betraying every ounce of love he feels. _

_ “I just love him so much!! What if I mess up? _

_ Atsumu claps a hand on Koutarou’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be great. Just go out there and don’t forget your vows, okay?” _

_ A knock comes from the door, and Osamu pokes his head in. _

_ “Hey, ‘Kaashi’s ready whenever you are. How much more time do you need?” _

_ Koutarou jumps up from his seat. “I’m ready! Let’s do this!” _

_ Osamu nods and leaves the room. _

_ Koutarou glances in the mirror to make last-minute adjustments to his hair and quickly makes his way to the gazebo behind the venue where he and Keiji agreed to meet in private before the ceremony. _

_ He arrives before Keiji does, and he fiddles with the sleeves of his tux while he waits. But before long, a figure steps into his periphery from around the corner. Koutarou looks up and forgets how to breathe. _

_ “Keiji,” he whispers. _

_ “Kou,” Keiji says once he reaches Koutarou, tentatively reaching out a hand. _

_ Koutarou twines their fingers and pulls him close, cradling Keiji’s face with his other hand. _

_ “Keiji,” he breathes, quieter than he ever has in his life, “You’re perfect.” _

_ The man across from him blushes and raises their joined hands to his lips. “It’s been over a decade and you’re still the brightest star in my life.” _

_ Koutarou pulls him in for a gentle kiss, their mouths melting against each other. “You’re my whole world, Keiji,” he says once they part. _

_ “Good thing we’re about to get married, then,” Keiji laughs under his breath. _

_ “You’re the love of my life,” Koutarou murmurs into his skin. _

_ “I fully intend on being by your side forever, my love,” Keiji whispers back. _

The reporter smiles earnestly and asks the next question. “You rose to fame in Japan’s V.Premier League with the MSBY Black Jackals and your signature ‘Bokuto Beam,’ named after yourself. What made you change your name?”

“My husband Keiji and I got married a few years ago!” Koutarou practically makes heart eyes as he talks about his husband. “It wasn’t legally recognized until a few years ago, but we wanted to share a family name because that’s what we were. So I took his name!”

_ “It’s just so unfair,” Koutarou pouts. _

_ “I know, Kou,” Keiji murmurs, rubbing small circles into Koutarou’s shoulders, “This country just isn’t ready yet.” _

_ “The stupid government can’t tell me what to do.” Koutarou crosses his arms like a petulant child. _

_ “Well, there  _ is _ something we could do…” Keiji tentatively suggests. _

_ Bokuto immediately perks up and his eyes shine. _

_ Keiji fidgets with the neckline of Koutarou’s shirt. “I was thinking…maybe one of us can legally change our name? So that we can share a family name, at least.” _

_ Koutarou leaps to his feet and picks Keiji up in a tight hug, spinning him in a circle, and Keiji giggles into his shoulder. _

_ “Ji, you’re so smart! Let’s do it!” _

_ “You can put me down now,” Keiji laughs and regains his balance. “I can’t believe you can still do that, even though I’m basically the same height as you.” _

_ “Hey! I’m at least five centimeters taller!” Koutarou retorts indignantly, “And I’m the strongest person you know!” He puffs out his chest. _

_ “Yes you are, Bokuto-san,” he says lovingly, patting Koutarou’s chest. “Anyways, I have to go back to my parents’ house sometime to find my birth certificate, but the whole process shouldn’t be that difficult.” _

_ “Okay!” Koutarou grins, “I’ll call my parents tomorrow and ask them for my birth certificate, too.” _

_ “Oh it’s okay, I don’t think you’ll need yours,” Keiji says. _

_ Koutarou cocks his head to the side. “Why not?” _

_ “Only the person changing their name needs it. I think you just have to sign the papers,” Keiji explains. _

_ “Wait, why are you changing your name?” Koutarou asks, still confused, “Why not me?” _

_ “It wouldn’t make a lot of sense.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “I’m an only child with a distant relationship with my parents, and you have a big family that you’re close with. And…you have your career to think of…” Keiji trails off. _

_ “So do you,” Koutarou replies immediately. _

_ “It’s different for me, Bokuto. I’m just an editor,” Keiji explains, his voice going tight, “but you’re a professional athlete. You’re an icon, and millions of people love you.” _

_ Koutarou wrinkles his nose. “I don’t need my name to show people that I’m the best at volleyball.” _

_ “Just trust me on this, Bokuto,” Keiji sighs, “And really, I don’t mind changing my name.” _

_ “But Keiji, you’re an editor and published author,” Koutarou counters, “Your name is printed on books and magazines and manga that thousands of people love.” _

_ “It’s different, okay?” Keiji’s voice rises, “You have to think about the team and PR and your brand and—“ _

_ “I don’t care about any of that, though!” Koutarou cries, “And your writing is just as important! All I care about is having you as my family. Please, Ji, it’s important to me that you keep your name. And I  _ want _ your name.” _

_ Keiji stays silent for a few minutes, then sighs. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” _

“You and your husband have recently welcomed baby twins into your life,” the reporter continues, moving on to the next question.

“Hikaru and Yuki!” If possible, Koutarou’s smile gets even wider. “Their second birthday is coming up!”

_ “Keiji, wake up!!” Koutarou jumps on the bed and Keiji yelps in surprise. “Today’s the day!” _

_ “Kou, please, it’s six in the morning,” Keiji groans, “We don’t have to be there until eleven.” _

_ “But it’s an important day!!” Koutarou yells, flopping onto the mattress. _

_ Keiji groggily rubs his eyes and reaches for his glasses, sighing with the acceptance that he won’t be going back to sleep. _

_ A quick shower, multiple cups of coffee, half of an eaten breakfast, and four hours later, Keiji and Koutarou finally get in their car. _

_ “The car seats are all set up, right?” Keiji asks as he turns the key in the ignition.  _

_ “Yup!” Koutarou replies, practically vibrating with excitement. “Don’t worry Ji, it’s gonna be great!”  _

_ Keiji smiles nervously at his partner. “I hope you’re right, Kou.” _

_ “I know I am,” he beams, “We’re the best, remember?” _

_ Keiji raises his hand to briefly hold Koutarou’s face, swiping a thumb across his cheek, and pecks his lips on Koutarou’s forehead.  _

_ If either man had hesitations, they undoubtedly melted away the second they held the small bundles in their arms.  _

_ “Holy shit,” Keiji whispers, eyes misty when a tiny hand wraps around his finger. _

_ “Language, Ji!” Koutarou admonishes with a giggle, tears also streaming down his face. _

_ “They don’t understand words until they’re nine months,” Keiji laughs softly.  _

_ They stand side by side, each holding a baby wrapped in soft blankets—a pair of twins, one with messy grey hair and the other with a tuft of brown, blinking sleepily up at their new parents. _

_ “They’re perfect,” Koutarou whispers with hushed reverence, quieter than he ever has in his life.  _

Koutarou looks up at the stands and waves, and the camera pans up to catch Keiji, wearing a bright red jersey emblazoned with a number 4 and the name Akaashi, sitting next to Osamu wearing a similar jersey with an 11 and Miya. They’re each holding a bouncing baby—also wearing matching too-large #4 jerseys—on their knees. Keiji and Osamu hold up the babies’ tiny hands and the four wave down at the court.

“How do you juggle the pressures of being both a parent and a professional athlete?” the reporter asks.

“Keiji and I thought about it a lot before we decided to have children,” he explains, “and what felt best was retiring after the Olympics so that we can raise our kids together and both be there as they grow up. I’ve already missed a lot of firsts, and I don’t want to miss any more.”

Tomorrow morning, when the interview clip airs, the international volleyball world will be in an uproar over the surprise retirement announcement. But tonight, he will play the last game of his professional career and come home to his husband and children—the great loves of his life, the protagonists of the world. If he is the sun, then Keiji is the moon and the twins are the stars, his love for them stronger than any cosmic entity—they are his universe, and they are the ones he will spend his last days with.

☽☆☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this whole thing started as my friend and I going feral about how [The Last of the Real Ones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YAAyUFL1GQ) by Fall Out Boy was perfect for BokuAka, and BAM a month later, this babey was born. I was so excited about it at first but I got frustrated so many times at the quality of my writing, but fuck imposter syndrome so I forced myself to finish it and yeet it into the universe. I hope it made you smile :) kudos and comments make my day! and come scream about haikyuu with me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/sakuatsusadboi)


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